A Feather and a Dead Man.

Last night I was about to go to bed and I was listening to the sultry sounds of Says Novinger (more about her later) when I saw sirens flash through my window. I looked out to see a cop car, a cop, a woman, her car and a man lying on the curb.

The police man thought the man was dead and was quite sure of it, called to more squad cars and an ambulance. Did some investigating and told the girl to go. Then as the paramedic was checking the pulse of the man he sprung up. The men jumped back and drew their guns, then put them back in the holsters.

The guy sat up and talked to the police for a bit. The paramedic was freaking out. After about 5 minutes of talking a man comes down the street in a white shirt, blue jeans and sunglasses (2 AM Sunglasses WTF). He says something to the person siting down, and the walk away.

The Police are like, Huh.

SOMEoNE IS BREEDING ZOMBIES IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD>>>>>>WHOA.

Also I went to get my application for the hookah bar today, no one was there. :( Sad .

18 year old feather.

18 years and 10 months ago. I found something

I found three feathers of fallen angels

They were tattered and torn, a bit mottled

But they were a piece of something greater;

Evidence of a presence that binds us.

I planted one under a tree

I made one into a pen

And I sealed one inside of a person.

Now the tree has grown and it is strong,

Its’ branches provide shade and its leaves stop the sun

The tree is a city where ants and moths, tweedles and dums

Go to work every day, do their thing and come home

And this tree is one of thousands, one of millions, one of infinity.

And all of them do their thing; all of them grow and go.

Their flowers bloom with an intoxicating bouquet and

Turn to fruit to feed the masses. It is something that binds us.

The pen sat on the desk of so many people.

People with beards and ears, tears and dears.

They wrote about those things or about the time Adolph met Europe.

Words flowed from the pin like water from the soft sandstone.

Twisting their way around history and up into our brains.

They spun a web of images and told a tale of neutrons.

Every word was loved and hated by the world and the masses

But certain words find certain people and bind them.

The person I gave the feather to grew to be great.

They painted a picture about a Lisa.

And they sang a song about a twist.

I once heard them serenade a crowd with the blasting of fireworks.

They went crazy and mailed their ears and their anthrax.

They even had big ears and led us to war.

Their songs, art, speeches, actions and factions

United the masses under a sense of happiness

And my feather person bound them all up.

The Tree, The Pen, The Person they all have the power to bind us

To show us something greater than ourselves,

They can bind us to reality or joy

Or faith and hope.

They can,

Can you?